Category Archives: love

Boy Meets Girl

Boy meets girl, and falls in love.
In this world of hate and war…
Girl meets boy, and falls in love.
So let stay together, play together, days forever babe… (Boy Meets Girl – Scarface *Made*)

We all know the story, according to scripture, in the beginning there was the WORD. And from that juncture, the Grand Architect of the Universe created all that we see and hold dear. Adam was produced and according to the Holy Bible, Genesis 2:18-24, and the LORD God said, “It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him.” Out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature that was its name. So Adam gave names to all cattle, to the birds of the air, and to every beast of the field. But for Adam there was not found a helper comparable to him. And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall on Adam, and he slept; and He took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh in its place. Then the rib which the LORD God had taken from man He made into a woman, and He brought her to the man. And Adam said: “This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.” Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh. And from the deception of the serpent in story until this very moment as you read this manuscript, the “ying and the yang” which is the relationship between male and female has waged forth.

The depth from the vaginal opening to the tip of the cervix is 3 to 4 inches. And as a man, the saying is you’re birthed from it, and all your life you spend trying to get back in it. Ah… P.O.P. The Power of Pussy. An interesting case study when you examine it from afar. I ask you to make an attempt to strip yourself of everything you know. The visualizations provided by magazines, television, movies and video; the influences of music which leads to unconscious decision making. How would beauty then be defined? What is its true definition? Would it still be a matter of appearance or would the attraction be a result of our innate sense as creatures to gravitate to the opposite sex due to unforeseen and unknown reasons? Alas, we live in a time where the exploits of women are never examined in their pursuit of gratification; a taboo subject to say the least. It is the male that is labeled the pursuer, the hunter, the aggressor. However, as the photograph indicates, for a woman’s affection, they are OUR conquerors.

As the late Bernie Mack expounded in one of his comedy routines, if a man could pick up a six (6) pack of p*ssy and head home without the hassle that comes with companionship, there would be a lot of lonely women walking the planet. So go ahead, pick from a treasure chest filled with romance novels, films and love songs. The common denominator is the male persona in pursuit of the female. Sure, “these hoes be acting up and these n*ggas be letting them.” The statement itself is self-explanatory; for the P.O.P. has its advantages and disadvantages. It’s an addiction that has broken up happy homes and caused wars; creates elation and produces heartache; leads to an exchanging of vows & swearing an oath to the heavenly father or having individuals appearing before a judge dividing the family belongings, or coming to an agreement for the allocation of child support. A pimp is willing to share, optimize and profit from it; the disillusioned will kill to prevent anyone else from having it, even at the expense of harming themselves; crime scene, yellow tape, forensic report and grieving friends and family all included. A father will rape his own child and beat her for her disobedience to satisfy his urges. It influences the decisions one makes and the people one associates with. And like most instruments of destruction, can be used for both good and evil. Laughable I know, but when you think about everything you’ve read in its totality, you know the font representing the words are true.

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Though the case can be made for both genders, for that “sack” or glimpse of the “camel toe” a man will exhaust all means to garner a female’s attention; fresh haircut and clothing; the nicest automobiles; an exorbitant amount of money spent on spirits laced with sparklers to garner a vixen’s notice in a conducive environment. A subtle glance in a strip club will cause precipitation of US Currency; showering dollar bills with the chance of a night of pleasure; bills and other obligations be damned. And in a public setting, denied overtures for communications are met with “Fuck you bitch” or “You must be a lesbian!” Yes sir, you wouldn’t believe how fast a THOT (That Hoe Over There) can turn into “bae” with the quickness when it comes to blood flow reaching the head of the penis. And just like the movies, the male persona will impress, search the ends of the earth, avenge the loss or even die behind it. They say there are no rules or restrictions, but OPP (Other People’s Pussy), these chicks belonging to everybody and other slogans are no longer applicable. They’re all lies. Men want their main girls and don’t want others to have access to women they associate with outside of their relationship. So as women post photos leaving jealously, negativity, heartbreak, hate and fake friends behind in 2014; where some women celebrate being professional “side bitches”; where a model receives as much attention as an “around the way girl”; and despite their achievements, the beautiful and affluent sometimes end up lonely, and the underdog is married with children, as a female, they all have equal footing and a male will ALWAYS have the craving for sexual fulfillment with any of them. Assess the lost verse of the song “These Hoes Be Acting Up” found written on papyrus on the outskirts of creation, which was originally composed by Wale & Meek Mill featuring French Montana with production by Rico Love and you’ll see..

“These hoes be acting up, and these n*ggas be lettin’ ’em.”

It’s amazing to me, when a girl see’s a n*gga with grip
All those stankin’ ass skins wanna get on ya d*ck
It’s a trip, before they would tell a n*gga to dip
But like a pocketbook, they wanna hang around by ya hip
Put a wedding band on your left hand, I don’t see that
Double X caught passenger side, they gon’ key that
Run and go tell ya girls, cc: that
Yeah I know, I know, I know I’m broke as f*ck, well I’ll be that
See that, I don’t haveta take that sh*t
N*ggas out here spending money trying to cake that b*tch
Question everything you do, can’t shake that b*tch
How you justify taking a rib to make that b*tch
Hoes up and raggedy *ss n*ggas we let ’em
Turn a blind eye to the bullsh*t and then sweat ’em
Forget ’em, with anotha chance to make that choice
Childe please, get da f*ck out my face, Chad voice!

“These hoes be acting up, and these n*ggas be lettin’ ’em.”

And despite all of that, as the great scribe Beyonce’ Knowles quaintly asked, “Who runs the world? Girls!!!” And that’s pretty much sums things up! You have a right to remain silent, however I do not recommend it! “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

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Help…!

Initially, I had planned to write this as a correspondence on my wall on Facebook because the subject was a little too personal and I didn’t want it attributed to the brand I’m trying to create. But then I said to myself, “F*ck it! I’m all in!” As you well know, if you’re a follower of me and many of the endeavors I’ve established (Internet radio show, blog & Fan Page, social media, etc.) I’m real big on narcissism. And not that I’m questioning your intelligence but, here’s a definition of the word; because let’s be real, many of you have no idea of what it means. Narcissism is the pursuit of gratification from vanity or egotistic admiration of one’s own attributes. Now some of you are shaking your head and saying to yourself, “Brandt…! You some bullsh*t! How da f*ck you gonna say something like that & you be posting on this muthaf*cka (social media) 100 times a day?” I know, I know! I hate the sh*t myself! It’s a necessary evil. You see, I “thought” I had established a good enough reputation with my actions, deeds, kindness and work, that I could I just “announce” I was doing something that would be beneficial to the community and enlighten the masses that people would immediately flock to it based on premise that I had a “clean face.” See, contrary to popular belief, I hate attention. I like to lurk in the shadow and remain in mystery. Sure I like to be lauded for my accomplishments, but for the most part, I’m cool with not being the center of attention. That’s not a lack of confidence, just the applause of the crowd doesn’t appeal to me because I know it can be stripped and turned into “boos” at any moment. And boy was I wrong! You have to beg for attention to captivate the public’s imagination. Thus, it requires me to be active on social media to attempt to amass an audience. The irony is, when I first established my venture, I asked a collection of “friends” should I even return to social media (because I had left) to promote and establish my brand. And from the collective it was a resounding “Yes!” It’s funny how those same individuals don’t follow the pages, approve of the information or show support to the endeavors. (Sigh) It is what it is.

The question must be asked, without social media, what would people do to garner attention? In a world where hiding behind a keyboard, your profile avatar and “check-in” location allow you to create the persona you want the world to envision, how would people receive the gratification they so desire? What I’ve learned in recent weeks is that everyone isn’t a narcissist. They say the eyes are the window to the soul; and behind the red tinted eyes of individuals in both selfies and usies are people screaming out for help. They don’t want the attention that comes with luxury and beauty. They yearn for the comfort of a warm touch; they desire an attentive ear to listen to their problems and dreams; they crave the love that’s been lost with the absence of a cherished individual or failed relationship. So to compensate, they hide behind the burst of the flash bulbs, drown their sorrows with bottles laced with sparklers paraded throughout dimly lit venues, resort to retail therapy or immerse themselves in their work to avoid the issues that plague them. I’ve met people for which, despite their beauty, job status and intellect, feel empty because they’re attempting to fill an unknown void in their lives; their self esteem plummets because of the slightest adversity. I pity them. Many of them can’t handle the pressures life has to offer and they either decide to create a persona to compensate, wallow in their misery and plunge into depression or commit suicide. That’s not to say that everyone who has over 1,000 photos of themselves falls into this category, because the large majority of the public exudes confidence. It’s the individuals that you’re unaware of that should a concern; those that portray an image that everything’s fine that you should be leery of. It breaks my heart that I know people that are unhappy with themselves despite everything they have to offer and all of their achievements. So this blog is for them. From this day forward, I won’t make disparaging remarks about those who wish to inundate the worldwide web with images of themselves. (Cross my heart) However, for those to which this applies, stop hiding behind the lens of the camera, refocus, and ask for the help you seek. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words; it’s worth even less when you don’t know and understand your value. “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

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Solar Return

“When I was young, I’m trying to tell you I was dying to get old

Dying to escape the chill when the weather was cold

When I graduated from school, diploma dying to hold

Dying to sell a million records so I could travel the globe

But now I’m dying…” (b) – When My Day Comes

When I wrote that verse in the year 2000 and up until now, that’s one of the realest rhymes I had ever written (the entire verse). It was meant to be rapped off of Nas’ song “Purple” off of the mixtape titled “The Lost Tapes”. The hook went, “When the day comes along and I die, don’t cry for me.” It was both a literal and figurative explanation as to what I was experiencing in life from adolescence until that point. It detailed my desire to grow older and reach maturity; when the weather reached a specific temperature, my desire was to seek warmth to escape Jack Frost; being anxious to graduate from both high school and college in pursuit of life’s new adventures; and during my rap career, my desire to be successful and reap the rewards of being a well renowned artist.  But taking into account that with the inhalation of every breath I was literally dying, which is true in all aspects.  From the time we exit the womb of our mothers and come out of the fetal position, the stop watch begins for our eventual meeting with the Grim Reaper. It is our hope to live long and fulfilling lives; however circumstances beyond our control can extinguish those dreams and thoughts prematurely.  At the point when those bars were written, and at many points in my life, I was at the crossroads between heaven and hell.

Have you ever been dehydrated and thirsty? Just think about that feeling when it pertains to life and your existence. Just like attempting to quench that thirst, think about constantly wondering what your purpose is in life.  For all your intellect and accomplishments, you feel empty and unsatisfied.  As my Solar Return Day arrives I am ravaged with fatigue. I grow tired of this existence and seek more from life. In the past when my birthday arrived I would celebrate with libations and endless partying. The celebration wouldn’t stop until I stated the festivities were over.  As I’ve grown older, I interrogate myself; trying to ascertain if my new found growth and frequency elevation coincide with society today. For all the family and friends I’ve accumulated over the years, I struggle to understand why I feel so alone.  As the saying goes, some people are here for a reason, others for a season.  For all the words spoken, the lack of action proves paramount.  In scripture, Solomon asked the Lord thy God for wisdom and was granted that and so much more because with wisdom comes sound decision making which leads to success and abundance.  Since I was old enough to read and understand the Bible that’s all I’ve ever prayed for. We all crave the spotlight; the riches that comes with being atop of our chosen professions; acceptance and respect from our peers.  I too desire those things but for different reasons. My sole purpose now is to enlighten those within my reach. I’d be lying if I didn’t want to be popular and well known. But I hunger for that only to use it for the purposes of helping others; no more.  I’ve hung out with drug dealers and trigger chokers; taken an oath of silence and vowed never to reveal the secrets of the compass & square; and to that end the void has grown more massive between myself and the souls surrounding me.  And for those that think my efforts are self-serving, they are far from knowing the essence of me.

From the posting of this blog, I will have 86,400 seconds to celebrate the sun and earth aligning in the precise position which summoned the exit from my mother’s womb. And for those now forty-three (43) years, there has been an ongoing, raging battle for my soul. And during that time, there have been junctures that were the determining factor between life and death. In college, it was Monica Paige who first saved me from the brink of destruction; she will never know how much I appreciate and cherish our friendship. She was the first to display what being a “friend” was all about. Then it was my cousin Byron Kendrick. After the death of his brother, I was charged with ensuring that anything he needed, support, an attentive ear, a helping hand, my duty was to be there for him. But as the calendar changed from year to year, it was more that I needed him than vice-versa.  Unbeknownst to him, he kept me alive; every time I wanted to give up, I’d think of him and what he endured losing his older sibling, and didn’t want to disappoint him by no longer being there. I had to be an example as to why you shouldn’t give up even when the odds are stacked against you.  Lastly, my daughter is my shining light in this chasm of darkness.  I so desperately want her to achieve greater heights than I was ever able to.  I don’t want her dreams to be deterred by the opinions of others.  She needs her father and I need her to keep me going.  If you were to follow me on social media, were to read my previous blogs and posts, and didn’t truly understand my persona, I know it could appear that I’m standoffish and conceited. That’s never my intent.  My sole purpose is be a better person and share whatever information I can to enhance the lives of others; nothing more.  Life, like the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, ebbs and flows.  High tide is signified by the elation of life’s successes; low tide is symbolized by your failures and inability to overcome them.  I only exist to spread love and information; not to be better than anyone as I struggle to be a better man daily while staring at the reflection in the mirror.  September 15th to many is just another day; in some aspects I began feeling that way also. Despite my best efforts I didn’t think my voice was ever being heard. However, through my existence, if I’m able to change one opinion; get one person to think and decide that they too would like to make a difference in society, then my effort wasn’t in vain.  I’ve made my share of mistakes; in my quest to be the perfect man, son, father, husband, employee, etc., I discovered my desire for perfection only magnified my faults; which in turn has made me a better person.  My promise to those of you reading this, the font that jumps off the page of my writings; my voice heard via the internet; anything I ever do will be 100% authentic, genuine and sincere.  I have no one to impress; I live for those that I’ve previously mentioned, honor those that want the same in return and respect those that aspire to change the world. I love you all! Happy Birthday to me.  I will now have the song below play on an endless loop as I sip cognac and plot on how to further my growth and development. Listen to the instruments as the song reaches its climax; the melodic tone of the featured artist voice as she closes. “Smoking Champagne!” Namaste!  “We Are The Change!”  I’m gone! (b)

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Live, Love, Laugh

So originally slated for today, I had planned on posting a blog called “Riddle Me This!”  I’m talking about that sh*t was gonna be deep discussing conspiracy theories and propaganda.  I had done my research; notes were spread out across my desk; and water was on deck to ensure I was properly hydrated and my brain was functioning at maximum capacity.  But as I began formulating the blog, I became engaged in a conversation with a friend concerning their goals and aspirations.  Now because I’m passionate about such things, the words began flowing; my fingers began hitting the keyboard of my iPhone at break neck speed.  By the time I finished, I had sent out about six (6) paragraphs; all lengthy in content and detailed with the precision of a craftsman.  I’ll keep this one short (I’ll try), but it’s gonna be an honest assessment of what “I” perceive life to be.

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From time to time, be on social media, etched in ink on someone’s skin or an individual wearing the moniker on a t-shirt, you will see the axiom, “Live, Love Laugh.”  The phrase is powerful in its content because if you simply live by those three (3) words, you should have no worries in the world.  Unfortunately, life isn’t always as simple as following a slogan.  As human beings we’re often times overcome with emotion; we experience elation, happiness, grief and disappointment.  With each life changing event our emotions ebb and flow like the rising and falling tide on the banks of the coastline.  It appears that most of us only experience the later of the three (3) words in that statement; not enjoying the pleasures of the first two (2).  The question must be asked, are you truly living or merely surviving.  The caged hamster is aware of its existence when it’s a captive as a pet.  There are only a few options: sleep, eat/drink and run on the wheel.  It’s as simple as that; nothing more.  Many of us are merely existing; unhappy with our current situations but too defeated to offer to make a change.  All the childhood dreams appear shattered like glass because of a wrong decision or life choice.  So to that end we settle; become content and complaisant; unwilling to pursue our life’s passions for fear of what people may think or the association of being deemed a failure.  So worried about being judged in the court of public opinion; so enamored with our “haters” that we spend beyond our means to satisfy those that can careless; lying awake well into the early morning hours contemplating our current situations and looking for a means of escape. So on bended knee we pray for salvation with the hopes of being granted favor.  And once given a sliver of hope, we broadcast for the entire world to see and hear how we’re so blessed; like a gambler; always highlighting the wins but never elaborating about the losses.  That’s not living, that existing.  In the phantom Bible verse, Hezekiah 6:1, “God helps those who help themselves!”  You can’t expect others to help you or relieve your burden without first trying to do so yourself.  So live!!!!! Drop that baggage and go…

They say time heals all wounds, broken hearts mend.  For many of us, the pain and anguish of love loss never subsides.  So we become scared to love again for fear of repeating the cycle.  Missing out on opportunities, because dipping a toe into the shallow end of the pool equates in the heart to being fed to a pool of sharks.  We want love to be unconditional only when it pertains to us receiving it.  Yet we remain reluctant to share those feelings on a consistent basis.  Here’s an example of what love is, and it’s not like Romeo and Juliet, as the lyrics of the old song will belt when heard.  Imagine giving someone money; any denomination.  If you’re looking to be repaid, it causes you some type of hardship by not having it or you’re constantly hounding someone to have it back, then you shouldn’t have given it.  Anything you give, whether money, love or time, you should do so freely and willingly without any strings attached.  Don’t get me wrong, everyone wants their feelings reciprocated, however there’s never a guarantee that the feelings will mutual; reaching the same level.  Love is never the same; it’s either ascending or descending.  But you can’t be afraid to give of yourself.  Essentially, that’s what every religion teaches in a roundabout fashion.  Love is the key.

But one thing as a society we do very well is laugh.  We laugh at the plight of others; we laugh when people are exploited and used.  But boyee…..  let that pistol get put on us, exposing our faults and weaknesses and we’re ready to fight something.  Laughter is good for the soul and a smile radiates a room when it’s genuine.  It’s ok to laugh at ourselves; it places life in perspective and means we don’t take everything so seriously.  So there it is! “Live, Love, Laugh.”  When properly understood, they’re the gateway to a happier existence.  Believe me, I’m not sitting here ideally giving advice; I too have experienced those same pitfalls, so it’s spoken from experience.  And when your Saturday approaches, and you’re lying on your death bed as the Grim Reaper begins to rap on your door, you don’t want to look back on your life saying, “What if” or “I wish I would’ve said or done…”  “Live, Love, Laugh.”  “We Are The Change!”  I’m gone! (b)

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Kill’em With Kindness After The Anger Consumes You

Disclaimer: Typically this isn’t the direction I’d like to go with the blog or how I would like the site, the show and the Fan Page to be portrayed.  I sat on this one for a long, thinking long and hard before I considered posting it. This post came from a somewhat dark and frustrating place.  It’s irreprehensible for me to allow this sort of thing to happen, but I have to express that these writings come from a “real” place and aren’t merely for entertainment or to seek attention. This is uncharacteristic of what we represent, however the thoughts are real; no different than what you may feel in the darkest corners of your mind.

 Metaphysics is defined as the branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles of things, including abstract concepts such as being, knowing, substance, cause, identity, time, and space. When practiced, the participant learns that emotions are a response to reactions that are felt inside of them. Whereas, if someone is angry with you or combative in nature, that’s their reality and beyond your control. Your reaction in turn will lead to sequences that will alter your future. An example would be if you stubbed your toe while getting out of bed. If you allow that one event to affect your mood, and don’t view it as a singular moment in time, the remainder of your day may proceed as follows: you spill coffee on your clothes; you step in dog feces while walking across the grass; you’re involved in an automobile accident or receive a speeding ticket on the way to work; so on and so forth. The same is true in the inverse. If you start your morning with a pleasant attitude, the outcome will follow suit. Finding $50 in a pair of jeans; receiving the promotion at work you applied for; winning a prize in a contest. It’s the yin and the yang; the ebb and flow of the universe; karma if you will. It’s something that I practice and try to work on daily. However, on this occasion there’s a tremor of discomfort in my soul. The heartbeat is irregular; palms sweaty as the words spoken are rewound in my mind as a reminder of public perception. What began as a whisper continues to echo in the chasm of my mind.  See one of the leading principles is to not worry about what people say or think of you.  Whether you’re being praised or ridiculed, the objective is to stay above the fray; not allowing your ego to drive your emotions.  LeBron James is a better man than me to endure all the criticism he’s received for decisions he’s made during the past four (4) years. One of the reason I started this blog was to provide an honest display of life in the written word. Not only to provide information, but to always being true to who I am as an individual. It was purposely intended for me to receive the information that sparked this inferno, so it’s only appropriate that I fan the flames.  So for this blog “Parental Discretion Is Advised!” only because it’s personal and addressing “hate”.  Let the subliminal pistol play begin.  (Rules: “On my count, take ten {10} paces, turn, then fire!) 

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The funny thing about being human is, no matter how perfect we try to appear on the surface, we all have our visible flaws; internal demons that we try to keep caged before its savagery is mistakenly or purposely released on an unsuspecting individual.  I try to never personalize the blogs because I want to provide an objective perspective on the topics I discuss; providing the reader with a different point of view by allow them to think critically of themselves and the world around them.  The prism from which we view life is sometimes distorted by the emotions we harbor.  What may prove to be a major issue for one person may have no consequence to the other individual(s) involved.  What’s all the more befuddling is the fact that we never truly know the people we have angst with because without self-reflection and control of the ego, we never truly know ourselves to pass judgment. 

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For several days, my spirit had been troubling me about events that had taken place; and premonitions about future trials.  My inner voice had been warning me to stay away from different venues or verbalizing my thoughts on different topics because I knew there would be resistance.  Now that I’ve veered off the road of conventional thinking, I’ve created more enemies and most of those who I thought were friends, supporters and “family” has been exposed as frauds.  I have no brothers, sisters or a true best friend to confide in, so I release my passion with key strokes, the sound of the saxophone, snares and horns, and the consumption of libations; it’s therapeutic.  The later has proven to be a determent and it’s a vice I must break as it enhances what some may think is an already contentious attitude.  Drinking the 80 proof is similar to the injection of truth serum coursing through one’s veins releasing a euphoric sensation that engages the brain to transmit thoughts to the vocal cords having a residual effect on the listener.  The words may ring true, but the context and arena in which spoken can have damaging results. So before the onset of events leading up to my 25th high school class reunion, I wrote a blog this past Thursday titled, “Caps, Gowns and Tassels.”  It was a brief summation of my thoughts pertaining to the forthcoming festivities and how I was battling myself attend.  I’ll be the first to say growing up I wasn’t a guerilla (thug/hustler/bad boy), the most popular or a three time letterman of the All-Whatever Team. I was fine being myself.  During my developmental years I had the pleasure of hanging with a diverse crowd, which made me a well rounded person.  I wanted to be cool, so I completed my homework in school so I could walk home with no books and blend in.  But by no means, and I have this conviction to this day, was I trying to be more than what I was.  I was smart, and sometimes embarrassed to be so.  Most, if not all of the so-called “popular” people weren’t in my classes.  I didn’t skip school, smoke “weed” or have a car to take girls off campus for lunch so I guess that made me “green” (a square; nerd; regular).  So in “my” mind’s eye, I didn’t feel welcome amongst my peers so I didn’t attend as a result. 

A day after writing the aforementioned blog, I began feeling more hate enveloping me.  By happenstance, while working and listening to my iTouch, an interlude titled “Hater” by an artist out of Oakland, California named Yukmouth played.  As the two (2) voices on the track exchanged dialogue, I couldn’t help but relate to how the animosity of one of the characters verbalized what I had been feeling.  Inserting my name and show (The Porch Reloaded) in place of the featured protagonist spoke volumes; it captured everything I “knew” was discreetly taken place without my knowledge.  With all that being said, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been ashamed to face myself in the mirror and admit to erroneous behavior.  If I’m wrong, I’m raising my hand in the classroom yelling to the teacher, “Pick me! Pick me!” because I’m willing to take responsibility.  That was no more evident than in a blog I wrote titled, “I Hate Myself!  The Struggle Between Being Honest and Being Real.”  Resembling everything I write, I try to provide an honest representation of my feelings regarding the human experience; providing comfort with the hopes that the font jumping off the page allows the reader to become engaged with the struggles we all endure.  As if I’m telling them, “I know you feel my multitude of emotions.  The highs of the elations; the lows of the disappointments; there’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable.  It makes you authentic, real; it makes you human. Like a songstress singing a love ballad, I’m expressing your feelings for you.  I’m your voice.”  That blog was meant as an apology for someone who felt I had hurt and betrayed their trust; and it was an assessment of me and what I needed to do to be better as a person.  Despite that, the “hate” didn’t stop.  And I was informed that an unhappy individual voiced their displeasure regarding a past incident that I thought had long been resolved.  I guess some feelings die hard, and unbeknownst to me, this person was “extremely” hurt by my actions.  So now, like Paul Revere atop his mighty steed galloping from town to town, this person can’t help but bellow their disdain for me.  I can’t lie, initially I was bothered; for all my flaws, I always try to have a good heart and show love when warranted.  Unlike most people, I never intend to maliciously hurt anyone; whether it be physically or wounding their pride.  I wanted to retaliate, strike back, and blow the spot up!!!  But what would that accomplish!  It would make me hypocritical.  All the encouraging posts and blogs, my attempts to spread love and enlightenment would all spiral down the toilet with the press of the “post” caption.  Is it worth it?  To satisfy my ego and fight for my honor is it worth resorting to any measure other than apologizing?  I’m twenty-one (21) about mine and will stand in the paint right, wrong or indifferent.  With what I’m trying to accomplish, I haven’t even made it to a level where the real “hate” will start.  This is but a small sample size of what’s to come if I’m to reach the heights that I know I’m capable of.  I won’t apologize for not being suspended from school, spending a stint in jail or being forced to attend CSI classes my behavior warranted such discipline.  If having those characteristics or swimming in the same school, in the same direction, traveling down the same stream was necessary for me to be accepted, then I glad I grew up and chose another route.  There are things in my past that I’m unhappy of and I could easily be in a different position than I am now.  So apply metaphysics to this situation, “what you eat doesn’t make me defecate!” Therefore I dismiss the urges to battle in the court of public opinion; it’s a no win proposition.  But just know this, there isn’t a need for direct eye, a subtle gaze, fake handshakes/hugs/kisses or idol conversation.  You don’t f*ck with me, and I don’t f*ck with you!  I’ll help those who’re willing to accept it, show love to those that appreciate it and continue pushing forward with my endeavors to become a better individual.  Now I’mma peel off like a band-aid.  LOL!  “We Are The Change!”  I’m gone! (b)

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Caps, Gowns and Tassels

Each month we tear off the pages of the calendar, and as the years pass we look back and ask ourselves where has the time gone?  The gray hairs in my beard, wrinkles in my face, loss of hair and the fact that my metabolism has slowed won’t allow me to say that it seems like yesterday I was wandering the halls of my high school; but much hasn’t changed since that time.  With age comes maturity, wisdom.  And with those lessons comes the ability to reflect on a time of few responsibilities and innocence lost.  What seemed like a lifetime of traveling from classroom to classroom acquiring knowledge, developing reputations and forging bonds were all captured in one singular moment; the receipt of a diploma.  And on that June afternoon in 1989, the first ninth (9th) grade class of Miami Norland Senior High School graced the stage of Florida International University. Proud parents, relatives and friends scanned programs identifying their loved one(s) who were preparing to set sail on the voyage to adulthood.  Some had already begun their journey by being the caregivers to family members or holding down jobs to contribute to household expenses. For others, the lambskin meant that the sun was only breaking the surface of the horizon and new chapters were preparing to be written.  As each of us walked across that stage, shaking the hand of our principal as flashbulbs burst like 4th of July fireworks, the event seemed all too surreal.  During that time, receiving a high school diploma was one of many crowning achievements.  Some were the first to graduate in their family in a generation; for others it was a mandatory expectation.  Regardless, the accomplishment appeared all the more gratifying.

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Reunions aren’t intended to celebrate the cap, gown and tassel. It’s a culmination of a lifetime of events until that very juncture.  Friends won and loss by arguments and fights; cheating off each other’s paper on tests/essays and walking home from school; discussing trends and collecting enough monies amongst a group to bus to the mall and catch a movie; the reunion rekindles those moments.  Stories when spoken amid your peers are astonishing and embarrassing.  A look in a Memory Book and/or the high school yearbook reveals messages and photographs of a time long ago and resonates in the heart as if the events were taking place in real time.  Pointing out who were popular, who you didn’t quite know; asking what are they doing now, and identifying the people who were “crazy”, jocks and who you wouldn’t have minded “hooking up” with.  Laughter ensues and one is left pondering the “what ifs”.

But with technology today, those memories and questions can be relived and answered every day, right?  With the advent of social media, those relationships can begin anew with the click of a button.  So the K.I.T. (Keep in touch) written by that someone you were secretly fond of or shared a close relationship with is only an email or inbox away.  But after twenty-five (25) years, things have changed.  Many of us have been hurt, had families, dealt with life’s trials and tribulations and have no time for empty promises.  Although avenues like Facebook, Twitter and Instagram have the ability to bring us closer, the warmth of actual human interaction is never more distant.  Many of us have been able to maintain their friendships; those bonds forged and maintained with constant communication and family gatherings.  While others distance themselves from the hysteria; perhaps loners or maybe ashamed of the lives they’ve lead to this point.

The twenty-fifth (25th) year is considered the silver anniversary of any event.  And as the years pass, attendance to celebrate such events appears to wane. Of course, life happens.  As the Miami Norland High School Class of 1989 prepares to commemorate our reunion this forthcoming weekend, I’m unsure I’ll be in attendance.  Not because I don’t want to attend; I’m unsure I need to attend.  I know there’s no excuse for my failure to be a participant in the activities if I have the capacity to do so.  But as an individual, I’ve changed like I’m sure many others have, and in my heart I don’t know if that’ll be acceptable.  I’ve never been tolerant of the emotionless hugs, kisses on the cheek, and fake “dap”.  People recognizing each other at different venues but refusing to speak; and if you do so, it’s as if you’re wasting their time like they were some sort of celebrity.  Sh*t!  I’m genuine with my interactions and I expect that in return.  Upon exiting the graduation ceremonies that fine summer day, I would’ve thought those unspoken pledges of friendship and camaraderie would last a lifetime.  Sentiments written in the pages of a text would hold true to this day.  During our youth, we hastened time to get to an age where we can be accountable for our deeds; without the watchful eye of parents and other authority figures overseeing our every move. But with each rotation of the earth around the sun, we distance ourselves further away from those ages of virtuousness.  On that day, the cap was tossed in the air the tassel shimmered in the wind and as it plunged to the earth, the gravity of both the moment and the lid came to a crashing halt.  Twenty-five (25) years later, I hope that same sense of elation can be reawakened and not regulated to “One Moment in Time”.  When I say “We Are The Change”, that ALWAYS includes me, as I strive to be a better person. I’m gone! (b)

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The Whole Truth; So Help Me God

The remarkable thing about living in the “Information Age” is that the truth is supposedly a mouse click away. When it comes to matters of the heart or the determination of faith, the acceptance of that certainty is sometimes too much to bear. We desire honesty but will shun that reality when the answers doesn’t satisfy our yearnings. “Keeping it real” rings hollow when on its surface neither party wants the responsibility of what comes with that action. It is said that three (3) types of people tell the truth: a child, a person who’s intoxicated and an individual whose anger has enveloped them. In all three (3) instances, it isn’t the message being spurned; it’s the deliverer of said message that is often times overlooked.

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Where is the line drawn between truth & fallacy? Is truth based on a position of authority? Does the deliverer of the information have to stand behind a podium or pulpit, wearing a Brooks Brother suit or gorgeous designer dress addressing the audience before television cameras or wear a uniform to appear believable? Who wants to hear from their significant other that they’ve been cheated on, the love isn’t there anymore, the sex isn’t good and the food they prepare on a nightly basis is horrible? No one wants to have their faith questioned or a story that they’ve heard countless times contradicted because until that moment of levity, all their lives those tales and beliefs have rang true. People would rather walk in a shroud of darkness before being told that the things they hold dear are no more real than the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. That’s why your friend continues to date the person that has been proven countless times to have cheated on them; the belief that the government has our best interests at heart although corruption has been demonstrated in those ranks time and time again; we say a “person of the cloth” is only human when being found to succumb to the strain of their office by sleeping with a member of their folk or engaging in ephebophilia. We say we want honesty but in actuality we don’t want to hear the truth. We unknowingly enjoy being deceived because the ramifications of knowing the facts are intimidating. The truth is painful; it makes us vulnerable; it hurts us to our core; it forces us to rebuild our morals and values. To avoid that, many of us would like things to remain status quo; it’s easier that way and absolves us of responsibility. And even in our denial of the truth, the words and evidence ring so true, it can’t help but resonate in the heart and provide a sense of enlightenment. And though that’s the feeling we all seek, undying freedom from the constraints of this reality, we run a never ending marathon from it.  It isn’t that the truth will set you free; it’s the willingness to question everything that will accomplish that. The truth is merely an unpleasant side effect.   “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

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Black Fatherhood On Trial

In the court of public opinion, the verdict is crystal clear. The jury doesn’t take long to render a decision. There isn’t a need for the twelve (12) to be sequestered; no threat of a mistrial or the jury being hung. From a room adjacent to the proceedings, the bailiff escorts the jurors back to their seats as the crowd anxiously awaits the outcome. The court reporter is patient, yet precisely accurate with the diction being used. The judge has returned from his chambers and grows weary of the litigation before him. On trial yet again is the “Black” male. His crime: accused of being a “deadbeat dad”, an “absentee father”, merely a sperm donor. After enduring the kidnappings from his native lands; surviving the rigors of the middle passage during the Trans Atlantic Slave Trade; being stripped of his name, culture and dignity – forced into a lifetime of servitude; scratching and clawing to be considered equal, once more he stands before his peers to defend his honor. The plaintiffs: The “Black” female, the mainstream media, movies, television and record executives; all of who has contributed to his demise. How did we get here? Can the “Black” male ever be exonerated and forgiven for his transgressions? It’s our job as men to correct these acts and ensure the story is told correctly; show that the evidence is unyielding on our behalf. Prove that the images and data being relayed to the public are the exception, not the rule. We’ll proceed as follows:

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When people discuss fatherhood, they assume that African-American men aren’t part of the equation. The media presents figures that show an overwhelming number of men are absent from their children’s lives. For every James Evans from the television show “Good Times” you have Stevie J of “Love and Hip Hop Atlanta”; for every Cliff Huxtable of “Cosby Show” fame, you have Peter Gunz of “Love and Hip Hop New York”. The graphs and pie charts are nothing short of damning when reports, studies, statistics and other data are presented. The imagery contributes to the public’s perception that “we” would rather have a harem of women, father children by each of them, then return to a lifestyle of dysfunction, as opposed to taking care of our responsibilities and being a pillar in a family structure. The negative illustrations supersede the achievements of the men that play active roles in the children’s lives.

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There isn’t a need to put “Desperately Seeking Daddy” with a picture of the alleged father on the side of a milk carton. No need for the unfair generalizations that proclaim Black fathers as being shiftless, selfish and the ones who abandon their children. We’re here for our children just as much as any other race. What about the fathers who have been driven away by angry mothers? Or the family law system which does little to defend fathers’ bond for their children? When making their arguments to demonized the Black male, is divorce ever considered? What about the breakups of unmarried couples? It’s bigger than what can be explained in a thirty minute exposé; it’s economic, sociological, psychological, cultural and political. These explanations should be regarded when having this discussion.

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When seeing a father taking care of his children, it shouldn’t be considered an abnormality. Data published by the Center for Disease Control revealed that Black fathers spend more time in their children’s day-to-day lives than fathers from other racial groups. If a couple doesn’t get married, that shouldn’t be perceived as the man are absent or he doesn’t support his children financially. Just because he doesn’t marry the child’s mother doesn’t mean he loves his children any less. Commitment to the bearer of the child isn’t necessary to take care of your responsibilities. A father is their daughter’s first love, their son’s first hero. What isn’t shown is the encouragement given during the birthing process; the diapers being changed or late night feedings; tip-toeing in the dark to leave money as the Tooth Fairy or the glow of pride a father has from being present during their child’s milestone accomplishments. There won’t be much fanfare or advertisements honoring the father’s role in a child’s development. Social media posts will run rampant on this day with quotes such as “Happy Father’s Day to the real men who take care of their kids”; or, “Happy Father’s Day to all the single mothers playing the role of both mom and dad.” Both of these quotes are shots at the Black males’ supposed inability to care for their seeds. Even Hallmark, with their Mahogany Brand specifically designed for people of color, has capitalized on the situation. Starting back in 2011, they created designs celebrating Black mothers supposedly carrying the distinction with their “To Mom on Father’s Day” selection. And because of this, the Black male has been placed in a position to defend himself from the atrocities of the world’s view of him as it relates to fatherhood.

The bailiff addresses the courtroom by stating, “All Rise!” And with palms sweating and a nervousness that can be felt in the pit of his stomach, the defendant anxiously awaits the jury’s verdict to be read. “We the people of the United States and society at large, find the Black father guilty of the charges brought against you for being absent from your children’s lives. Until further evidence is shown to reverse and dismiss this verdict, the conviction will remain. You are hereby sentenced to a lifetime of ridicule and shame. The media will continue to have the ability to exploit this phenomenon and will depict you as being an unfit, unwilling caregiver to your children. We will drive a wedge between you and children’s mother, have you tied up in child support hearings, suspend your driver’s license for nonpayment or any arrears owed and have you disgruntled. You have the remainder of your lifetime to appeal this verdict and change society’s perception of you. I encourage you do so, but feel at this point, with the media at our beckoning, we can keep perpetuating this charade until the end of time!” The judge then strikes his gavel to conclude the proceedings. Being a father is no different than acquiring and maintaining a job. There will be pitfalls, unforeseen obstacles, trials and tribulations. However, the joy that comes from succeeding and raising your child to be a productive individual is an achievement sought after by all men who father children. Fathers I implore you, remain involved in your kids’ lives despite the circumstances. Be sure to nurture, love and groom them. Being a dad is most times a thankless job that often goes unappreciated; and that comes with the territory. More positive stories of Black fathers involvement can render any judge’s decision null and void, and in future hearings the court would have to deliver an outcome of Nolle Prosequi (Latin for unwilling to pursue; do not prosecute). Happy Father’s Day! “We Are The Change!”  I’m gone! (b)

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D-Fense (clap, clap) D-Fense (clap, clap)

“What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love
No not just for some but for everyone

Lord we don’t need another mountain
There are mountains and hillsides
Enough to climb
There are oceans and rivers
Enough to cross. enough to last
‘Till the end of time” – Diana Ross “What The World Needs Now Is Love”

There aren’t too many occasions where you can turn to social media and not find a post that does not quote something with positive affirmation. Whether the message focuses on remaining diligent in the quest for greatness or striving to enlighten others, there are those amongst us who try to give off a positive aura of caring for their fellow man and spreading the wealth of abundance. When the message is delivered by your favorite celebrity, pastor, or star icon, the words are met like a scripture; liked, quoted, commented and retweeted thousands of times without a second thought. It’s as if we need the assurance of others to allow us have a particular opinion as to how to feel when certain subjects are broached. Once they’ve approved, then surely we can follow suit because a person of that elevated status wouldn’t lead me astray.

“Did you know that your feelings show
You thought your love was locked up inside
But when your senses start to overload
Love is something you should never hide

You’ve got to believe in love
It’s a feeling that’s next to none
Can’t stop until we are one
With the power of love

Tell everyone to try
I promise you’ll reach the sky
One thing that we can’t deny
Is the power of love” – Luther Vandross “Power Of Love / Love Power”

 
When the subject of “love” is brought up, it’s as if the conversation is taboo. People appear openly afraid to express those emotions in the general public. Around friends, men would rather appear before a firing squad as opposed to declaring that phrase in the presence of their peers.  However, at funerals, those same men will use and exceed their two (2) minute time frame championing their fallen comrade and stating that “we” should voice these feelings because “life’s too short” and “tomorrow isn’t promised.” During courtship, because the relationship is new, the euphoria of expressing one’s feelings reach new heights. We need that affirmation from each other to determine if the bond is real and felt mutually. However, once the expectations are met and the feelings satisfied, we become complacent and all the acts that had us feeling that way no longer apply. The love remains but those feelings of ecstasy fade. Perhaps that’s the reason why so many people stray in their relationships, as they continue to chase the initial high of being happy in those moments.  People must understand that love ebbs and flows; it’s never the same. Love isn’t singular to an individual, it’s the passion and devotion to “all” things. Not just an affinity for a person, but for the animals, the trees, the universe at large. That’s what love is; not Romeo & Juliet but the one that’s described in the scripture of your chosen religion.

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Hypothetically speaking, what if all the religions were brought to together and had one message. The words of the Bible & Quran; the messages delivered by Jesus,  Buddha, Muhammad & Confucius were all brought together for one specific reason. To share the power of the thing we defend ourselves against. Think of the feeling you have after a Sunday morning of worship. The message is delivered by the pastor/minister and the word that is heard by ear resonates through your soul. Upon your exit, your spirit is renewed. But after the pixie dust wears off, similar to the complacency in a relationship, we defend ourselves from expressing those feelings until called upon unless when there’s a dire situation. Any sense of vulnerability reveals a chink in the armor. We crave the feeling, yearn for the warmth it provides, yet shun from it at times; hide from its embrace and run for shelter for fear that it’ll continue to hurt us; time & time again as with incidents past.

“Are you trying to find a beginning.
Or something just to hold on to.
Always know that love will find a way.

Is it hard this life you’re living.
Does the world seem so unkind.
Don’t you worry love will find a way.

Some say we’ve lost, our way.
Some say the world has gone astray.
But if you know where you’re going.
There’s nothing you can’t do.
’cause problems will come.
And they will leave you.
The world will try to deceive you.
But the truth will always be in your soul.” – Lionel Richie “Love Will Find A Way”

 
Corinthians 13:4-8 states the following: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs… Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves… Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”  Once we understand the concept surrounding love’s essence. We will enjoy its embrace and realize the fears of expressing it is propaganda played in our mind. Stop placing your feelings on a leash and let them roam free to enjoy life’s pleasures.  And if someone can’t or won’t accept you for the person you are after being sincere and genuine, it’s an indictment of them not you. Namaste!  “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

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A Streetcar Named Desire – A Lifetime of Firsts

From the time we burst from our mother’s womb, gasping for air and seeking comfort, until the moment our souls leave the flesh of this physical realm, we will have the propensity to experience many firsts. Our first steps, words, kiss, and other monumental occasions are recorded by scribe or retained to memory in the annals of history as a reminder of those achievements. And in a world where historic first are applauded with adulation, some of the seemingly minor accomplishments are overlooked in what develops the persona of the individual you will become.

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Maya Angelou, born Marguerite Ann Johnson on April 4, 1928, would be become the next pioneer to blaze a trail of first steps which would endear her to her peers and make her highly regarded to the world at large. Her first autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of seventeen (17), and brought her international acclaim and recognition. With the publication of that manuscript, she became respected as a spokesperson of Black people and women, with her work being reflective as a shield of Black culture. Her accruement as a renaissance woman would allow her to travel the globe, and while living in Accra, Ghana in the early 1960s, she became close friends with Malcolm X. Upon her return to the United States in 1965, she helped him to build a new civil rights organization called the Organization of Afro-American Unity. The former Mr. Little would be assassinated soon after its formation, but her efforts in the Civil Rights movement did not stop there. In 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. asked Ms. Angelou to organize a march, but that too would be disrupted by his assassination on her 40th birthday, April 4th.

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In a lifetime of firsts, Angelou would be the first Black woman to write a screenplay with the 1972 release of Georgia, Georgia, which was produced by a Swedish film company and filmed in Sweden. A lifetime of achievements and honors would follow and lay in her path. A supporting role in Alex Haley’s mini-series Roots (1977), being a writer and composer for Roberta Flack, to in 1993, reciting her poem “On the Pulse of Morning” at the inauguration of President Bill Clinton; the first poet to make an augural recitation since Robert Frost at John F. Kennedy’s inauguration in 1961. During her lifespan she had gone from front woman/business manager of prostitutes, being a prostitute herself, restaurant cook, calypso dancer and unheralded writer to an icon that mentored the likes of Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry.

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What’s most impressive about her story is that before graduating from high school, she worked as the first Black female streetcar conductor in San Francisco, California. This may have been an additional catalyst that fueled her desire work hard and enticed her hunger for more. Her mother, Vivian Baxter, encouraged her to pursue the position in the 1940s. In a “Super Soul Sunday” interview with Winfrey in May 2013, her mom told her that if she wanted her “dream job,” she would need to arrive earlier than the secretaries and work harder than anyone else.  Angelou advised that she wanted to be employed by the company desperately, stating: “I loved the uniforms. I saw women on the street cars with their little changer belts… And they had caps with bills on them and they had form-fitting jackets,” Angelou recalled. She would write about her streetcar experiences in the last of her autobiographies titled, Mom & Me & Mom. There’s a memorial to Maya Angelou at the San Francisco Railway Museum. Earlier this year, she received a lifetime-achievement award from the Washington, D.C. – based Conference of Minority Transportation Officials during a program celebrating “Women Who Move the Nation.” And much like the streetcars that run on the steel rails on the streets of San Francisco, there were no slots that held Angelou from overcoming the obstacles that lay in her path. There were no underground cables to hinder her ability to spread her infinite knowledge, wisdom and charity around the world. The electricity that flowed within her propelled her to the highest of heights after enduring the lows of disenfranchisement, disappointment, divorce and death. Let Dr. Angelou be a lesson that despite whatever you believe is obstructing you from the happiness, success and abundance you wish to attain, perseverance and being willing to take the first step is necessary to affect that change.  “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

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